One Minute to Midnight (Black Ops: Automatik)

by Nico Rosso

  “You know it.” She glanced away from her rifle for a second to wink at him. He absorbed as much of her heat as he could hold, clutched it close in the core of his chest. She put her earbud in and turned back to her rifle. “Talk when you can, we’ll see what we can pick up.”

  He kissed her on the top of her head and whispered, “We’re going to end this and then we’re taking our time.”

  “Promise me.” She didn’t look at him. Her words shook him.

  They both knew operators didn’t make promises.

  “I promise.” He left, wishing he could just rain fire on the whole town and wipe it off the map, then be alone with Mary. But there were good people in Morris Flats. He and Automatik needed to be surgical about removing the cancer of Kit Daily, Pulaski and the Limerts.

  His eyes took a second to adjust to the fluorescent lights in the service stairs. He crept down, past the hotel security guard, who’d regained consciousness but knew better than to try struggling or yelling.

  “Patio door,” he informed Mary before stepping back into the night.

  They were still close enough for the communicator to work. “Roger that. Path ahead looks clear.”

  “Thanks, angel.” He moved out onto the patio and down the metal ladder into the loading area.

  “Emergency services are rolling out to the truck fire at the on-ramp.” She spoke even and clear, eyes above the world. “They’re leaving the other one to burn. Loading continues at the rail yard.”

  “Copy that.” Thick smoke rose into the black sky a few blocks to his left. Sirens howled, and lights flashed against the nearby walls. He proceeded to the right, toward the shadows surrounding the low industrial buildings.

  The connection with Mary thinned. “No visual...armed security...sector...” Then silence. It tore him apart to continue forward, farther from her and toward the danger. He’d lost her voice, but knew she was up there, watching over him. And he knew he’d do everything he could to complete this operation and get back to her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She watched Ben slip across a street, then disappear. The shadows swallowed him. She knew how he expertly navigated the night. But she couldn’t hear his voice, couldn’t tell him what she saw or get the reports of his actions. A cold ache gripped her chest.

  No one below had spotted her after the three shots. Emergency services scrambled, and the police cars sped through the streets haphazardly. Yet she felt exposed. Did it make her vulnerable, feeling what she did for Ben? Did it make her a bad operator? Reckless with emotion?

  Mary put her crosshair on the hood of a police car that approached Ben’s territory. Then she moved the aiming point, compensating for the speed of the car and the travel time of the bullet. She squeezed the trigger and sent the round splitting the night air. A second later, the car sprayed engine fluids and swerved to a sideways stop. Flames licked out under the hood, and the two officers bailed out.

  Ben remained hidden.

  Another truck motored toward the highway, one on-ramp north of the one she’d shut down. The distance would stretch the effective range of the .50, but if she could block that escape route, too, the extra time it took the trucks to get out would allow Automatik to operate below.

  The truck cab was red and white, the cargo container worn yellow. On the other truck she’d aimed for the vital organ of the fuel tank. But at this range, she could only narrow the bullet down to the engine area. She scanned ahead of the truck’s path. The on-ramp curled into the highway. If she was late with the shot, it would miss any substantial mechanics and allow it to escape. She sighted on the curve of the on-ramp that would place the cab’s profile flat to her shot. And waited. And kept her nerves from winding too tight. The truck still didn’t appear in her scope. Her heartbeat threatened to throw the shot off. She took a breath in, let it out halfway, then held it. It was the last bullet in this magazine. Reloading would take too much time. There was no second shot.

  The truck broke into her field of view. She aimed high to account for bullet drop and fired before the truck reached her crosshairs. The path of the round cut through the sky and arced down. The truck drove directly into the kill zone and was hit in the engine block. Sparks and fire burst, followed by thick black smoke. The truck was dead, and the on-ramp was impassable.

  She was a hell of a warfighter and that hadn’t changed. But the tug she felt for Ben every time they were apart, and the flash of bright heat he brought when they were close, had raised the stakes. Nothing could happen to him. She’d fight every last man in this town to keep him from being hurt.

  * * *

  Two shots had streaked down from above. Mary brought lighting down on the town. Ben had seen the aftermath of the police car. It still burned, abandoned, by the time he’d lurked a block away. There’d been no sign of the police officers. The result of the other bullet was unknown, though he was sure it had hit its target with maximum impact. He wished she could report her action. Even just to hear her voice.

  The town was a mix of chaos and complete silence. Like every other war zone.

  Ben moved when the path was clear and hid when activity sped past him. Another police car patrolled three blocks away. It swept with its searchlight but didn’t stop and stayed clear of the burning wreck of the other car in the area. The armed security details had become more cautious. They crept slowly at the edges of buildings, weapons ready. Ben had seen two of them at an intersection parallel to his and swung farther to the east toward the train tracks.

  He hid himself in a stack of car body parts and brought up the tracking app on his phone. Finally he was close enough to have a view on movement. Pulaski was north, near the train yard. His officers were spread throughout town. The civilians Ben had given the bracelets to were all home. Good. He hoped they had the lights out and stayed away from the doors and windows. Lucas Lara, the retired Navy aircraft carrier man who’d made Ben at the hotel, roamed the streets. There had to be at least one other security man with him. Even these small details gave him an advantage.

  “Jackson on the ground,” he whispered into the mic of his earbud for anyone close enough to hear.

  “Man,” his SEAL teammate Harper answered, “I didn’t know there were any friendlies down here.”

  Ben breathed easier with more of his team in the hellish town. “‘Bolt Action’ Mary’s on the roof keeping an eye on us.”

  Art Diaz broke in. “We saw her damage.”

  “What’s your twenty?” Ben gathered himself to head back into the firing lanes.

  Harper maintained a low voice. “Feels like the middle of town. Hardware store and a bank.”

  “Six blocks from me.” Ben moved out.

  Sant’s distinctive British accent added to the conversation. “Raker and I are further west of center. Mercs drove us north of the truck Mary took out.”

  Ben calculated the area. “Stay on your line. We should all be sweeping east toward the rail yard. That’s where the real business is.”

  “Roger that,” Sant confirmed.

  Ben came to the end of an alley and scanned the street. Nothing visible. Every corner could hide gunmen or crooked cops. He burst across the street. Gunfire crackled. Bullets whizzed past him, off target. He made it into a gap between a restaurant and a yarn shop and kept running. The gunfire broke off and footsteps chased him.

  A man yelled out in pain, and Ben heard him crash to the ground behind him. A moment later, the distant .50 rifle shot reverberated like thunder. Mary had tagged one of his pursuers, and he made it to the next street without incident.

  Harper snapped onto the airwaves. “Was that Mary?”

  Ben sidestepped up the next street and bolted for another alley. “We snaked a fifty from the warehouse. I’ve never seen such beauty as her raining lead.”

  “Sounds serious.” Harper chuckl
ed.

  Ben didn’t know how to articulate to his friend and teammate all that had happened between him and Mary in the seriously short time frame. “Dead serious.”

  He approached the center of town, where the grid of streets provided long sightlines and poor cover. Ducking into a secure doorway, he checked his phone. Lucas was south of him, near where Mary had stopped the truck so it blocked the intersection. No other blips indicated hostiles near him. He looked up and saw the sign for the hardware store one street to his west.

  “Nearing you, Harp,” Ben announced.

  “We’re at the edge of the bank parking lot, in the weeds.”

  “See it.” He sped in that direction, knowing that while he was exposed over the street, Mary covered him. For now, the area was quiet. A stand of trees and bushes bordered one side of the parking lot. The slightest human movement within the camouflage drew him.

  Harper and Art stood against a broad tree, both covering different areas. They wore their tactical rigs covered with gear and magazines and carried assault rifles. Art’s knit cap was pulled low over his brow. Harper wore a bandana and no helmet and smiled broadly when he saw Ben.

  “There’s my Jackson.” Harper extended a fist. Ben bumped the side of his against it. “You in one piece?”

  “All squared away.” He readjusted his gear after the sprints along the streets.

  Art just stared at him, a little smile in his eyes but mouth grim as usual.

  Ben challenged, “You got something to say, marine?”

  Art turned to Harper. “I told you it was trouble to send him and the sniper on assignment together.” Ben puffed up to counter Art, but the man was dead right.

  Harper kept his eyes on his sector but squinted, incredulous. “You never said that. You never say anything.”

  Art muttered, “You just weren’t listening.”

  The two men gave space for Ben to take a position by the tree. Nothing could approach without them knowing.

  Harper ventured, “Anything we need to know?”

  “It’s all good,” Ben answered, and he meant every word.

  Harper responded, “That’s all we need to know.”

  And the conversation was over.

  Art shifted his feet. “So what are we shooting at and when are we shooting at it?”

  “Major trucking’s bottled up through town, so we need to press into the rail yard.” Ben laid out the plan as far as they could take it. “Suppress security forces and stop the trains. Two warehouses, one damaged, both full of weapons still as yet to move out.”

  Art growled, “Point the way.”

  Tak’s voice crackled on the comm, “We copy that. North of your position. Converge?”

  “Negative,” Ben replied. “You’re the north flank. Sant and Raker are south. We’ll take the middle. Converge on the rail yard.”

  “Roger,” Tak answered. He grew more urgent. “Shit, you have heavy hitters heading to your neighborhood. Too fast for us.”

  Marks, his teammate, added, “Loaded tractor trailer and an oversized tow truck, big enough to clear one of the wrecks clogging the on-ramps.”

  Ben, Art and Harper all stood ready, looking for movement. The approaching trucks rumbled. Ben amped himself up for the next action.

  “Police escort?” Ben asked.

  “None.” Tak whispered; he must’ve gone into deeper cover. “Only see one patrol car, and he’s prowling our sector.”

  The trucks grew louder.

  Harper moved from the cover of the tree. “It’s our party.”

  Ben readied his weapon and spoke into his mic, “North and south teams, we’ll see you at the rail yard.”

  “Copy that,” Tak answered.

  Sant replied, “Affirmative.”

  Ben wanted to hear Mary’s response. She was isolated on her perch, the way she normally operated, but it seemed too detached from the flow of information. He needed any indication that she was still safe up there.

  Diesel engines gnashed and howled, pushing their vehicles too fast on the city streets. Ben and the others broke their cover and sped toward the intersection where they were headed. A tractor trailer blew into view a block away. Right behind it was a huge tow truck. When they hit the intersection, the semi continued forward, and the tow truck made a hard right to turn north.

  Ben made his decision quickly and barked it out. “Truck first. We’ll catch up to the tow as he’s trying for the on-ramp.”

  Art and Harper were with him, scrambling over the bank parking lot, through the bushes at the back edge and to the next street. Ben and Harper both aimed at the streaking truck while Art covered their flank.

  Ben claimed, “Airbrakes,” and sent a burst of bullets into the base of the cab, where the hoses led to the trailer.

  “Tires.” Harper fired in a tight pattern, shredding the rubber around the wheels.

  The air hoses popped and screamed, and the tires on the trailer locked up and screeched along the road. The cab listed, bent over where Harper had destroyed the front tire. The truck wasn’t going anywhere. But the driver remained in the cab. Too scared to fight? Or...

  Art announced, “Trojan horse,” confirming the trouble Ben felt in his gut.

  Three security men appeared on the top edge of the cargo container and opened fire. Ben, Art and Harper scattered. Ben found cover behind a low wall while the other two made it to a stand of trees lining the street.

  The opposing force kept them pinned down with a steady barrage. Ben poked his weapon over the wall and fired blind, just to open a little space. The security men paused, and he rose above the wall to fire at their receding shapes. Art and Harper also shot at the men, chipping pieces of the trailer away but not hitting anyone.

  An urgent clock burned into Ben. “They’re wasting our time.”

  Harper responded on the com. “Diversion away from the tow.”

  “You guys bring grenades?” Ben was only equipped for recon.

  Harper’s answer arced through the air and landed on the roof of the truck. One of the security men scrambled toward the grenade and swung his rifle at it. Ben fired at the man and clipped him in the arm. But the man still managed to knock the grenade down. It burst into the side of the cargo container and tore a hole in the metal. The other two security men came to the edge again and fired down, continuing the stalemate.

  One of the guns fell silent. Then the other. Ben heard Mary’s voice in the lingering echo of her distant rifle. She was safe and she was telling him to knock out the fucking tow truck. Ben broke cover and ran up the street in the direction of the blocked on-ramp. Harper and Art joined up with him.

  Harper marveled as he sprinted, “She’s good.”

  “The best.” Ben didn’t know enough words to describe her.

  The three of them ran up a block, turned east for two, then north again. They paralleled the highway. A hulking truck burned across the on-ramp ahead. The massive tow truck had backed up to it and hooked to the long trailer. Ben calculated the distance from the wreck to the hotel. A hell of a shot, at the functional limit of Mary’s rifle. Out here, he couldn’t expect the same precision she’d shown on the security guards at the last engagement.

  But her bullets did streak through the air and punch into the side of the tow truck. It kept grinding, though, and started to pull the trailer and truck down the on-ramp. Ben and the others were only about a hundred yards away.

  Art set up behind a tree and fired into the tires of the tow truck. The thick rubber was picked apart but stayed mostly intact, and the tow kept motoring. Harper and Ben dove behind a short cinderblock wall surrounding the yard of a nearby house and set up their weapons to fire on the truck.

  Bullets raked at them from the right. Three more security guards shot from behind the cover of a row of concrete
street barricades. The longer they kept Ben and his team pinned, the more space the tow truck cleared.

  Ben tapped Harper and indicated he was going to swing farther to the right for a different firing position on the security. Harper nodded and handed him a grenade and held up two fingers to show how many he had remaining.

  Staying low against the wall, Ben crept as far toward the shooters as possible. Their position gave them a perfect vantage over the area, even keeping Art suppressed behind his tree. When he’d gone as far as he could, Ben peeked up to get the enemy’s position, pulled the pin on the grenade and threw it.

  One of the security men shouted, “Grenade!” and they stopped firing to scramble.

  Ben rose above the wall in time to see the explosion and flying chunks of concrete. But the men remained below the barriers. Only a glimpse of one of them flashed in a gap. He shot at the shape but wasn’t sure if he’d hit him. Harper and Art opened fire as well and kept the men pinned.

  Another goddamn delay. Frustration clenched Ben’s jaw. The tow truck would clear the on-ramp in a minute. And God knew how many train cars were loaded and on the move by now. Ben vaulted the wall and moved in a wide arc to flank the men while they were still occupied by Harper and Art’s barrage.

  He couldn’t see enough of them to target but could tell the men were working on something rather than just huddling away from the raining bullets. He hustled to cover at the corner of a house and warned the others over the com, “Bad news coming.”

  “Shit.” Art spoke between bursts from his weapon. “I see it. They’re manning a SAW.”

  Harper blew out a frustrated breath. “We’re not that heavy.”

  Ben stole a glance from his cover. One of the men braced the light machine gun on the barrier and another held its belt of ammo. “Be ready to take them out.”

  Harper called back, “With what artillery?”

  The security man behind the SAW pulled the trigger and sprayed lead toward Harper’s hiding place.

  Ben readied himself. “Here it comes.”